


Bravery

by OmgReally



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Come as Lube, Crying, Din Djarin Deserves Better, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Din Djarin POV, Emotional Sex, F/M, Fluff, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Prompt Fill, Protective Din Djarin, Shameless Smut, Smut, Soft Din Djarin, The Helmet Stays On, Third Person POV, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Unprotected Sex, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29759625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmgReally/pseuds/OmgReally
Summary: Bravery is not the absence of fear. It is the strength to move forward despite it.Or, Din Djarin doesn't know how to say goodbye before heading off to a job, so he promises to come back, instead.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Din Djarin/Reader, The Mandalorian/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 84





	Bravery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thepoisonofgod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepoisonofgod/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Set in Stone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28170075) by [OmgReally](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmgReally/pseuds/OmgReally). 



> A prompt fill for the amazing @[poison](http://thepoisonofgod.tumblr.com)! Crying, intimacy and smut. My favourite 3 things, how could I resist?!
> 
> Starring Jedi OC Kit'la from Set in Stone but you can really insert whoever you want in her place B)

“I have to go.”

He says it while they’re lying, supine and sated, in the darkness of the sleeping berth. The air is close and warm, muggy with the lingering scent of sweat and sex - neither of them have bothered to move, despite the appeal of a hot stream of water from the sanisteam. For her, the Mandalorian’s arms are far more comfortable, and for him, these moments are far too precious to be wasted.

But he knows they can’t last.

“Right now?” the girl he named Kit’la asks, stretching slowly as she shifts against him. “You told me you had a job. You didn’t say when.” The line of her abdomen peels away from his as she pushes herself up on her hands. It’s too dark in here to see, but she’s never needed light to see right  _ through  _ him. “Does it have to be now?”

“We’re running low on supplies, Kit. Potable water. Fuel.”

“I understand the basic economics of running a ship,” she shoots back, irritable despite the afterglow. “What I  _ don’t _ understand is why you never let me come with you.”

He reaches out in the gloom and slides a hand down the outside of her arm. “You know why.”

She sighs, and he senses as she moves away from him, sitting up with her back turned. “All right,” she says, but her voice is sullen, glum. He trails his fingers down her back, following the furrow of her spine until they catch on the scar, the great furrow that runs from the bottom of her ribs all the way around to her tailbone. 

He could have lost her so easily, so many times. But this was a time when he came the closest, and while she is still healing, he will let no harm come to her. He will not even let harm come  _ near _ her. And while it frustrates her, she accepts it.

“I won’t be long. I promise.”

He feels her hair slide over his fingers as she turns her chin to her shoulder. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, then she draws in a deep breath, like she’s steeling herself. She never likes it when he goes out alone, but this is the way things have to be.

This is the Way.

He feels, rather than sees, her smile. She takes his hand in her two smaller, scarred ones. “Want some help getting your armor on?”

He doesn’t think much of the shake in her voice until later.

\---

It’s slow going. First Din puts on his underclothes, his trousers, his boots, then the undershirt and long-sleeved armorweave. He doesn’t need help with  _ that _ , at least.

Kit is content to lay in the dark until he has his helmet on. With a touch at the control panel by the door, the hatch slides open, letting in the light from the rest of the ship which fills the space with a muted blue glow. Kit sits up, and Mando takes a moment to admire the curves of her body - a warrior’s body, peppered with scars, each a thread in the tale of triumph that has woven this woman in front of him, who does not need a looming stature to fill a room with the imposing gravity of her presence.

He admires her for perhaps too long, for she raises her eyebrows and tilts her head with a smile he knows all too well. “Having second thoughts?” she asks, all innocence and light, and he presses his lips together in a tight, mirthless line beneath the helmet before shaking it to and fro, albeit reluctantly.

She doesn’t see the reluctance, though he hopes she can feel it.

Mando sits on the edge of the bed and reaches for his padded cuirass. Kit’la helps guide it over his helmet, settling it over his shoulders and strapping him in without him needing to ask. She is efficient, practiced, and although her hands linger here and there she doesn’t make it obvious.

She helps him fasten his gauntlets, careful of the business end of the flamethrower, the whistling birds, the controls. A few almost-accidents have happened due to a careless finger here and there, but she knows enough now how to avoid that. 

The pauldrons are next, then the flak jacket and the chestplate. Her palms do linger there, pressed over his  _ kar’ta _ in a gesture he taught her. He folds his hands over hers, allowing the touch as he tilts his head to look down at her face.

This is not the first time he has allowed Kit to help him. But it is the first time she has cried while doing so.

Din feels the air leave his lungs, a weight settling in his chest that’s heavier than the Beskar. Kit is reverent, careful always, but crying? Never.

“Cyare?” he questions softly, taking her hands in his. “What is it?”

“It’s stupid,” she sniffs around her tears, shaking her head. “I just - I’m not used to this.”

Her fingers squeeze his. “Used to what?” Din prompts.

“I’m not sure if it’s your fear or mine,” she says, so quietly he has to lean in to hear it. “But ever since I was hurt, every time you leave, I - I’m terrified.”

His chest pangs again, and he draws her into his arms, the thought that  _ he _ has caused her distress boiling in the pit of his stomach like acid. Din doesn’t just want to wipe away her tears; he wants to erase them from existence, eradicate the very possibility of them, burn down everything in the galaxy that could possibly cause her pain and make it so that she never has to cry about anything ever again.

It hurts. And the fact that he knows that’s impossible hurts most of all.

“I don’t want this,” she whispers, and her hands, pressed against his Beskar, curl into fists. “I don’t want to be this - weak and weeping thing, holding you back - I’m sorry, I-”

He grabs her wrists before she can take them away and cants his head to catch her gaze. Her face is red and flushed in splotches over her cheeks, moisture shining in tracks down her face and above her upper lip, which trembles as she fights her emotions. She is beautiful.

“You are not weak,” he tells her, his voice a growl through the modulator. “You are brave.”

“I’m  _ not _ , Din, I’m  _ scared,  _ for Force’s sake-”

“Bravery is not the absence of fear,” he interrupts, needing it to be said, “It is the strength to move forward despite it.”

It takes a moment, but he sees her lips twitch, the edges of her eyes losing some of their drawn-tight tension. “That a Mandalorian saying?”

“I don’t know,” Din shrugs. “But  _ I _ said it. So I guess it is, now.”

Kit is still naked, he realizes. Naked and half-sitting in his lap, straddling one of his thighs, and with his cuisses still waiting to be strapped on, he can feel the heat of her through the fabric of his trousers. He swallows heavily as she smiles up at him, beatific, strong and vulnerable all at once - everything he wants, everything he needs, everything he  _ loves _ but could never accept, would never  _ allow _ himself to accept until now.

Her hands travel up his chest, caressing the Beskar as if it’s his flesh, and he shivers as if he can feel it. He feels pressure, pressure and the soft, supple weight of her as she settles more fully in his lap. She leans in and presses a kiss, sweet and reverential against his helm, and inside it his breath falls into a stutter for a moment.

“Stay,” she murmurs, and Din opens his mouth to refute her until she adds, “Just a little longer,” and presses the full length of her body against his. 

His hands find her hips of their own accord, and it feels as if he’s worn divots there with the perfect fit of his fingers to her flesh. He rubs back and forth, drawing her in further. “Just a little longer,” he repeats, his voice low and scratchy through the vocabulator, and he doesn’t miss the shiver it sends through her.

She nods then, buries her face in his neck, her breath hot through his cowl, the line of her nose pressed against his pulse through the fabric. He curls a hand around one cheek of her ass and lifts his leg, urging the flexing muscle of his upper thigh into the apex of hers. She’s still messy from their earlier activities, slick with their combined fluids, and the thought of her seeping into the fabric of his trousers makes him harder than he already was, just from this.

As if sensing his thoughts - for all Din knows or minds, she might be - Kit slides one of her hands down and makes room between their bodies to cup his length through the fabric. The vocal modulator captures his groan and tones it down a bit, but her smile is one of triumph as if he’d cried out much louder.

“Need you, mesh’la,” he whispers, one of the extolled Mando’a words he reserves only for moments like this, and she sighs against his neck as his fingers drift from her hip over her stomach and finally dip between her legs. He finds her clitoris, already plush and swollen to the touch, with his thumb and offers short, sharp circling motions which she leans into with a gasp. 

Her hand doesn’t stop moving, though, caressing him back and forth until he’s almost at the point of being unable to stand it any longer - and then she stops, and the broken groan it tears from him has no hope of being caught by his vocabulator. It turns into a sigh of relief as she pops open the fastenings to his pants and draws him out of his underwear, her fingers gripping his length surely, confidently.

“Already?” she murmurs against his cowl, her chuckle lost to a squeak as he slides a single finger inside her and curls it. She needs no preparation, the passage of his digit smoothed by their combined slick. It makes him - and her - shiver alike.

“Already?” he echoes, and her chuckle fills him with a fierce, aching joy, one he wants to make physical and pour into her until she feels it too. Din withdraws his hand at once and she gasps in protest, until he centers her over his lap and plants his feet against the floor for leverage to lift his hips up, the head of his cock brushing against the slick, pliant heat of her folds.

Kit circles him with her thighs, her knees on the bed on either side of him. She grabs his shoulders in time for him to pull her down and slide up into her all at once. Her groan is an echo of his as he breaches her, thrusts home in one smooth, unhindered movement. She opens around him, impossibly warm, impossibly tight, and the sensation of her enveloping him - with her cunt, with her legs, with her arms - makes Din gasp and shudder down to his bones.

She pulls him close and he presses his visor into the crook of her neck and shoulder. No matter how many times they do this, it never fails to collapse him in on himself for a moment, utterly overcome by sensation and the simple intimacy of her allowing him into her body. He will never get used to this. He never wants to. He wants it to ruin him, to break him down into the small hollow pieces, to rebuild him in the shape of himself, but  _ fuller _ . 

It kills Din a little each time that he can never express any of it, never explain how it makes him feel, but Kit seems to understand regardless. Her fingers roam him, the spaces in between his metal carapace and over, caressing each part as if it is a whole. As if he is not held together by Beskar and determination when all he really wants to do is fall apart.

For her, he is strong. For what is strength but bravery, and what is bravery but the ability to move forward through fear?

There is fear in the Mandalorian’s every touch. Fear of the unknown, of the forbidden, but it makes him treat it with the respect it is due. With the respect  _ she _ is due. His hands sweep her back, gentle over her scars, over the deeper one in her side, but she barely notices. She arches into his hands, pliant and pliable, and her breasts are a delicious weight that fill his palms perfectly, her nipples pebbling between his fingers. She rolls her hips in insistent impatience and Din is all too eager to oblige, lifting up into her with the clench of his thighs and abdomen, and it pulls a groan from his gut as he slides through the impassable grip of her fluttering walls.

_ Just a little longer _ , he tells himself as he falls back and thrusts up again, and again, guiding her body with his hands on her neck, her waist, her hips. He wants to be everywhere, all over her and inside her at once, he wants to consume her and let her consume him until the only thing that is left is the desire to stay and the rest of the universe will fade, forgotten, into the background.

For a time it does, and all that exists is the heaving of their breath in the close space between their bodies, the feel of Kit’la’s sweat-slicked skin under his bare hands, the press and push of their joined hips. Din is almost disappointed when he feels the telltale flame of his orgasm building in the pit of his stomach, stoked by the slide of his cock through her pussy, but she’s close and trembling too and he can’t stop, won’t stop for anything. He forces his hand down her stomach and thumbs her clit again, more insistently than before; her spine crumples in on itself and she sobs into his armored shoulder with her release, squeezing him impossibly tight; a wordless plea;  _ come back, please, come back to me; promise you’ll come back. _

It’s a moment before he realizes she’s whispering it hoarsely, almost breathlessly, and he fights the clench of his throat to whisper back,  _ I’m here, I promise; you are mine, gar kair’ta, kot’ner, gar baar bal kar’ta; _ Din dissolves into Mando’a because he is too afraid of what the words will mean if she understands them.

He forgets that she does, regardless, and when they are still, when the grip of her insides slows to a flutter instead of a pummeling squeeze and he is done throbbing and filling her with his seed, she holds him tight and tells him that she loves him.

Din’s resolve wavers, then, not for the first time, and he considers taking her with him - but she winces and her breath catches as he lowers her back to the bed, still inside her. She is too sore, too tired. He brushes sweaty hair from her forehead and longs to kiss her flushed skin.

“I have to go,” he tells her, and Kit’la murmurs formless words and nods with her eyes closed as he pulls back, pulls out. He draws the blanket over her spent body before he tucks himself away and reaches for his thigh armor. He’s damp with her and him both but he doesn’t mind at all. 

“I know,” she says, opening her eyes to gaze up at him, watching as he fastens his belt, pulls on his gloves and flexes his fingers, settling into his armor like a second skin. “I’ll be brave,” she says, and her voice does not waver.

His fingers brush her jaw, and she smiles; his small, strong Kit’la. And through her, the Mandalorian, too, knows strength.

“Then so will I.” 

\---

  
_ gar kair’ta, kot’ner, gar baar bal kar’ta -  _ you are my heart, my strength, my body and soul

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lonely are the Brave](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29765904) by [thepoisonofgod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepoisonofgod/pseuds/thepoisonofgod)




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